BURNING NATION, SMOKING CITY. THE TALE OF THE OGRE.

There once lived a tale that was retold over and over generations. When fingers didn’t know the pen, when the world was still shoot tender and war a tale too. When war was for heroes and not fought by hyaenas who put their tails in between their hind legs when they saw the lions around or heard them roar. Real men battle bare fisted, cowards use guns. A people cannot know peace when they have not seen a war. Justice and peace are like life and oxygen. How can a preacher claim his own holiness? The media is a goon in a wedding dress, a beautiful ogre awaiting to eat you up in your sleep do not ease your heart and emotions.

Life has turned out to an outdated tale, villagers being haunted day and night by this power ogre. How do you cry on a monsters lap? How will the goat get justice when the leopard is the judge?  The tale my grandmother used to tell us while we sat around her in her tin roofed mud house around the fire on dark peaceful evenings. Despite the darkness showing no promises of light atleast it was promising food for the soul in abundance, peace. We slept in peace from the cricket sounds to howls of wild dogs and to the early morning devotion of birds. Indeed god was to be praised for the peace, the greatest gift that brought us to harmony with nature when we still didn’t know our blood groups and cared less for a language to connect us lest it was love. But the tales told not of not ice cream on the cone but blood on a machete.

Yes , the ogre had to shed its blood on the soil for the peace of the people otherwise the villagers had nothing to fear of in the dark nights where we could hear crickets communicating to their creator.. Sometimes villages would burn, as women carried wailing babies on their backs escaping the wrath of the ogre and the few brave men would dare it with their weak arrows, but it took skill, effort and bravery to succeed. The ogre had to fall and all it took was brevity of only one man who got lucky amidst the many trials who knew the timing and where the arrow would sink deeply into the flesh intoxicating with the poison. The hero of the people.  With my yam leaf ears I sat and listened patiently to each word as it came out with such unmatchable skill of a timeless re­­­­­­­­-knowned story teller as I ignored the animal urine smell that emanated from  across the kitchen that doubled up as a pen. Despite ants making a feast on the soft tender part of my back body to which they were taking advantage of the two ever open gates behind my khaki shorts that were due over retirement, I chose to marry attentiveness throughout not caring my age.

Decades thereafter I sit and ponder but end up sighing in pain as I ask myself who bewitched society? I used to wake up a son of the village, now I wake up as an enemy to my neighbor. Where is the love? Its stolen I find out, by money, power and the people of my village I once grew up knowing they are kin from a distant land who spoke another language. Now betrayal has set in, the ogre has unveiled itself in broad day light and I can see houses burning. My younger brothers, sisters and nieces being born in oppression, torture and mass killings. How do I teach them of peace and freedom that I haven’t seen and when all they wake up to bullet shots instead of chirping of birds?

How do I lie to them of equality, justice and love when all they see is blood, dead bodies and a burning city. What language am I teaching them if I cannot understand love? Oooh a poor generation may god forgive us which I know he isn’t sober to. With all this greediness how do we teach them of generosity if we even don’t know how to spell it? Let the gods of the skies get angry and drown us all with the arks we’ll try to build and let a new generation shoot out of the ground. Let our wickedness be washed away by our own blood that our generations may live knowing peace and rejoicing in love and neither be bound by blood but humanity. I desire that they may be born free not slaves like so am confused on teaching them the art of war like Sun Tzu or be like Jesus and teach them love they can’t see while all they feel is the heat from their burning nation. Animals are better humans. Hope you remember the story of the lioness of Samburu natonal park and the baby oryx. The dolphins too. I see men, men in brassieres running away from the ogre and watching from behind a screen. So let me preach even if it means turning out to a preacher but I promise you a sermon nil of lies but overflowing with the bitter reality than your normal pampering sermon. I’ll make you dinner with bile. Cowards will preach peace under oppression where exists no justice. An ogre is an ogre, not known by its face but its back.

Brothers and sisters, nothing comes from comfort zones. Comfort zones bring slavery, economic pain, disease and premature death. Revolutionize the world by any means, be part of the change you want to see. Better die trying than a coward. The media is making profits from your ignorance, do not lend it your trust not even your ear all times. Digital lies beware, from confused young, beautiful, handsome but foolish young men who put food on their table by spreading lies, rumor and propaganda. Media and government are but bodies hiding truth from the people and still we are looking for truth from where it was taken away from us.

We were not born to endure economic pain, oppression or slavery of any kind. We were born free rich souls brave to overcome fear, intimidation and root out any stump in our way because we have the power, voice and a mind. Why be born a slave in your own country, why be born a squatter? You are not a lesser being but only being manipulated to dance to the familiar rhythm and in the end your bones will make soup for the ogres in the same feast you are portraying all the skills your body can to please them for your freedom. Use your wit lets bring the ogre down and make drums out of his skin and dance to the beat of peace and liberation. Keep on a strong physical and spiritual fight it’s not over unless you say so.

Patriotism is the love for one country. Where is patriotism when you let the ogre spice you up and your village to crispiness and marinate you in a marinade concentrated with bullshit and fear. Why do you watch as your economy crumples, as your health deteroriates as people are assassinated for others to lead? A true warrior stands up against fear and the will of his flesh and he is brave to know life starts when we die. The life of legends and heroes. One who is patriotic stands up not for himself but to his nation for the nation is bigger than them. Lets defeat the ogre, you and I and live a real life not a tale. ONE DAY THE OGRE MUST FALL.

                                         # POLITRICKS